Good Things Can Come from New York
by busygirlks
Summary: Totally AU Finchel story.  Rachel is a young, ambitous singer from New York.  Finn is a tough, heartbroken rancher in Post-Civil War Montana.  The two meet and sparks fly.  But can they be together or are they too different?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own Glee. I just play with the characters sometimes.**

**This is an AU story, totally AU although you may recognize a few of the characters hanging around. The setting will become obvious pretty quickly. What you need to know? Cowboy. Finn. Yay. This will definitely be T in later chapters, as those two crazy kids get acquainted. K for now. **

Rachel adjusted her bonnet as she walked into Schue's Saloon. Squinting against the abrupt change in brightness as she walked out of the noonday sun into the establishment's darkened interior, she tamped down tightly on the wave of hysteria that threatened to claw its way unbidden from her throat.

'Establishment,' she thought, snorting softly to herself. The place was little better than a brothel, and Rachel found herself once again questioning her own judgment and sanity in making the trip west to the Montana territory.

The war had ended ten years ago, and still people looked at her with suspicion when they heard her distinctly northern accent. Rachel knew that most folks this far west had no stake in the war either way, but upon arriving, found many retired Confederates still willing to take issue with her 'Yankee' status.

Wrinkling her nose slightly, Rachel surveyed what would potentially be her new place of employment, as well as her new home.

It smelled, she decided, quite horrible. Like alcohol and sweat, and perhaps manure. She wasn't sure, having smelled little in the way of manure during her nineteen years.

Looking at the stage on the far end of the bar, she found herself thoroughly scandalized by the barely-clad women performing a bawdy dance to the delight of a small throng of men gathered just far enough away to throw coins at the dancers.

Smothering a gasp, Rachel turned abruptly on her heel. Surely Mr. Schuester had misunderstood the kind of entertainment she was willing to provide. Despite being clear in all correspondence that she was a singer, he must still have gotten the wrong impression.

She was almost out the door when a voice called out to her, "Ms. Berry? Rachel? Rachel, wait!"

Shocked by what she had seen, what she had smelled, Rachel froze at the friendly-sounding voice and pasted on her best smile, "Mr. Schuester?" she guessed timidly, taking in the jovial appearance of a slimly built man in a barkeep's outfit.

"Please, call me Will. Why, you're a tiny slip of a thing, Ms. Berry! I hardly saw you over the bar. Where were you headed in such a hurry when you just got here?"

Rachel felt a blush creep up over her cheeks. Not wanting to offend the man, since he seemed so kind, she chewed thoughtfully on her lip before answering, "Mr. Schu…Will…I'm not sure you understood what kind of…services I offer," her voice trailed off as she looked meaningfully at the stage.

He laughed, a loud guffaw, "Oh, Ms. Berry, I would never expect a lady such as yourself to be willing to dance in her knickers. No, my offer for you is legitimate. I'd like you to audition as a singer. If you and I can come to terms, you would sing in here three evenings a week. I can provide you with a room upstairs, if you need a place to stay."

A little bit of the tension eased from her chest, and Rachel felt herself relax slightly.

"Well, when would you like me to audition?" she removed her bonnet and shook out her dark brown curls.

"Will?" the man looked stunned.

"You're quite a beauty, Ms. Berry," Will smirked happily, "If your voice is half as pretty as you are, I'll have no problem packing this place whenever you sing."

Her blush intensified, but Rachel said nothing, not sure if this man was propositioning her or complimenting her.

"Now is as good a time as any Ms. Berry," he turned towards the stage, "Tina! Brittany! Santana! Clear the stage girls."

The men who had been enjoying the show let out a collective groan.

"Boys, boys," Will soothed, "You're in for a real treat. May I present to you the New York educated and trained, Ms. Rachel Berry!"

The silence in the room was tense as Rachel pulled sheet music from her satchel and spoke briefly with the piano player.

She felt the harsh stares of the disgruntled bar patrons as she climbed the short flight of stairs to the stage. She heard the whispers of the displaced dancers as they watched from the wings behind her.

Rachel ignored all of the noises. Clearing her throat, she quickly removed her travelling coat and laid it on a nearby barstool. She nodded once to the piano player, and the strains of a familiar and haunting melody from her childhood drifted in the air.

All thoughts fled her mind as she opened her mouth and began to sing.

* * *

Finn Hudson was going to get drunk. Not just inebriated. Not just muddle-headed. But rip-roaring, falling-down drunk. He was a man with a plan. Nothing would deter him.

Quinn had left him. She had well and truly left him.

Shaking his head as he dismounted his horse and tied it to a hitching post, he mentally amended that she hadn't left him…she was just refusing his offer of marriage. She was refusing him, not because she didn't love him (she had assured him she had never loved him to begin with) but because she had received a better offer.

Some fancy businessman from New York City had come to town and made her family an offer they could not refuse.

New York.

Finn snorted. What good thing had ever come out of that God-forsaken place?

Giving his horse a gentle pat and assuring it could reach the water trough, Finn readjusted his hat and walked purposefully towards Schue's Saloon. It was a Saturday night, and contrary to his usual habit of calling upon the delightful Miss Fabray and courting her as he had been for months now, Finn found himself alone.

Utterly alone, in a foul mood and looking for trouble.

He was fairly certain, from what he remembered, he might find some here.

He wondered if that fine Miss Santana was still…available for company to the highest bidder. Finn wasn't one to frequent whores, but a man had needs. Needs that the lovely Miss Fabray would have been horrified to learn of, let alone to satisfy.

It had been long months since Finn had received any female attention, as he felt it only proper to keep himself as chaste as it was possible for a man of twenty-eight to be, when courting the woman he wanted as a bride.

As he sauntered easily toward the saloon doors, his long-legged gait casual and unhurried, his ears became attuned to the sounds drifting from Schue's place.

He frowned slightly as the melody softly floating to his ears didn't sound like the kind of raucous tune Miss Santana would need to kick up her heels and show off her bloomers.

Pushing his way through the doors, Finn froze in his tracks.

There was an angel on the stage.

Deep brown eyes, soulful beyond their years, stared out over the crowd. Her hair gleamed in the bright lights the lamps threw over the stage. Her skin was milky and clear, and slightly flushed no doubt from the heat of both the heavy air and the rapt focus of all the male patrons. Her lush figure was clad in a beautiful emerald green gown that while not immodest, certainly more than hinted at the curves that lie below.

Finn gulped, stunned in the face of such beauty.

And then she began to sing.

It was if every tiny speck of his body and soul longed to reach out for her. Thoughts of Miss Santana disappeared. Thoughts of drinking disappeared. All thoughts disappeared altogether from Finn's mind as he allowed himself to be carried away on the wave of sensation her rich voice created in him.

"She's amazing, isn't she?" Finn started slightly at the soft sound of Schue's voice in his ear. If he had allowed Will Schuester to get the drop on him, he was surely slipping.

"Amazing," Finn parroted back, lacking the coherence to find other words.

"Her name's Rachel," Schue continued quietly, leading the way back to the bar, "she came here from New York City."

Finn felt a twinge of anger at the mention of that dreaded city, but the angelic voice from the stage quickly soothed his savage heart.

"I don't know what the hell I did to merit such a gift to walk into this place," Shue sighed, "but she's making me a mint. Every night she sings, I get more men drifting in here. Like I hired a siren or something…they just wander in off the street. Men I haven't seen in forever."

"Speaking of which," Schue eyed him speculatively, "I haven't seen you in quite some time. I heard about Miss Fabray. Tough situation, man. Sorry to hear about it."

"Uh huh," Finn mumbled distractedly, staring at Miss Berry as she moved around the stage switching to a more upbeat tune.

"You want an introduction?" Schue said, hiding his smile.

"Huh? No, why would she want to talk to me?" Finn removed his hat and ran a hand through his tousled chestnut brown hair. "I'd just say something stupid…" Finn's voice trailed off as he noticed a commotion near the stage.

"What's going on over there?" Schue couldn't see over the crowd.

Finn could though, standing head and shoulders above most people in the bar.

That stupid idiot Karofsky had grabbed the beautiful singer off the stage, and was trying to lay a sloppy kiss on her.

Finn didn't remember moving. Later he would try to recall how he got from the bar to where Karofsky was mauling the petite brunette with such speed.

The next thing he knew, he was pounding his fist repeatedly into the moron's face, heedless of the crunching sounds emitted as bone crushed bone, and the whining, pleading voice as Karofsky begged for mercy.

He would never know if he might have killed the overgrown ass, because he felt a gentle hand on his arm stop his forward momentum cold.

As he dropped the now prone body of Karofsky to the floor, Finn turned slowly to stare into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.

"Thank you, Mr…" she trailed off, her luminous eyes lighting and a small smile tilting her lips.

"Finn," he managed to puff out, slightly winded from pounding on Karofsky, "Finn Hudson."

"Thank you Mr. Hudson. I'm Rachel Berry, and I'm greatly in your debt."

Staring into her innocent, upturned face, Finn felt something give in the vicinity of his heart and knew that things would never be the same.

**A/N: So, what do you think? Any comments are sincerely appreciated.**

**~Karen**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: A big thank you to those who have read and reviewed and/or added this to your favorites. It is like Christmas every time I check my email. :)**

**To answer a couple of questions – this one is set in Montana territory, ten years after the Civil War so c. 1875. This story may unwind slow, or may skip big chunks of time. The muse is fickle. I have a basic outline in my head, but I go where the story takes me.**

**A little naughtiness in this one. What was it Quinn said? All teasin' no pleasin'? I give this one a mild T rating.**

**One other thing…the computer I'm on right now won't let me run the right Java to edit stories. So, I've put an "pretend there's a page break here" where there's supposed to be a dividing line. Generally it indicates a change in POV. I'll fix it tonight when I have my laptop. **

**Reviews equal love. Oh, and if *I* owned Finchel, they'd be much naughtier. So, obviously I don't.**

Craning her neck to see her very tall rescuer, Rachel stared, almost hypnotized, into the warmest whiskey-brown eyes she had ever seen. The sounds in the background faded into a sibilant murmur as she felt something sizzle across their connected gazes.

She felt a fluttering in her stomach; something akin to when her friend in Missouri let her ride a horse, at full gallop, across an open field. Or when she looked out into a crowded room moments before she performed.

Anticipation. Excitement.

She read the same emotions in his eyes.

Him. Mr. Finn Hudson.

The rich timbre of his voice had caused a shiver to trail its way through her body. It was soft, slightly raspy. She wondered offhandedly whether he sang.

She saw his full lips moving and pondered briefly what it would be like to kiss a man like that. A man who was tall enough, and broad enough, to practically block out the sun, yet genteel enough to defend a lady.

Not that she had a great deal of experience with kissing. She was a 'well-bred lady,' after all, and had as yet not been promised to any man. After her mother's sudden death and her father's incapacitation due to grief, she had little hope she ever would be. Besides, a few stolen kisses behind the schoolhouse surely could not compare to those of a man.

She unconsciously licked her lips at the thought, wondering if it was possible to actually scandalize one's self.

He stopped speaking now and the sounds in the bar seemed to catch up to Rachel at that moment. She heard the moans of her attacker, still on the floor. She heard the patrons urging her back to the stage.

But him, he was silent. And he looked…concerned.

"Ms. Berry? I asked if you were okay? Did that jacka…guy hurt you? Will? I think you better send for Doc Figgins. She's been struck dumb."

She felt an unladylike snort slip past her lips and turned red in mortification, "I think that's perhaps the first time in my life someone has had to ask me to talk. Usually I do it too much, of my own volition," she mumbled quietly under her breath.

He looked her expectantly, "Excuse me ma'am?"

Trying to convince the handsome cowboy that she was indeed, in possession of all of her faculties, Rachel smiled, "I'm fine Mr. Hudson. Again, I very much appreciate your assistance. I'm not sure what I would have done had you not come to my rescue."

Which wasn't _exactly_ the truth. Rachel had been travelling alone for months now, and had fought off more than her fair share of overzealous admirers of her work. She found a well-place knee to regions better unmentioned by a lady, followed with any conveniently nearby bottle to the back of the head was typically sufficient.

But his way seemed so much easier.

And more satisfying, she thought without even a flutter of sympathy for the behemoth still writhing helplessly. She neatly sidestepped the spreading pool of blood dripping from the man's nose and suppressed a sigh as she felt a large, warm hand envelop her elbow, assisting her.

It was unnecessary, she thought, but sweet.

"Ma'am, you need to have a seat," Mr. Hudson drawled softly, "Will you boys shut…be quiet?" he growled at the other men, "Miss Berry's had a scare. She needs to rest."

She felt him guiding her gently but firmly over to the bar counter where Will waited, a concerned expression pinching his normally jovial features.

"Rachel," Will's voice shook with worry, "Are you okay? Do you need a doctor? I was reaching for my shotgun to help, but by the time I got to it, Finn had the situation…in-hand."

"Don't be silly Will," Rachel said, smiling as she made her way to the counter, "I'm fine…" and Rachel heard her voice trail off, saw spots that converged into blackness and then there was nothing.

**Pretend there is a line break here**

Oh, hell, Finn thought to himself as the tiny woman suddenly swooned. She had seemed so in control of herself and the situation only moments before, that he was surprised to see it happen.

His arms shot out instinctively to keep her petite form from hitting the sticky saloon floor.

Shooting a panicked look at Will, he gathered Ms. Berry's limp body in his arms. "You send for Doc Figgins. Where's she staying?"

Will raised an eyebrow at him in silent query.

"Damn it, Will," Finn swore at his old friend, "What kind of animal do you think I am? I'm going to take her up to her room so she can rest comfortably. I wouldn't take advantage of a woman who wasn't awake to enjoy it."

Even if the unconscious woman he held was making his own body heat up in a totally inappropriate way. Hell, she weighed practically nothing. He could stand there all night with her in his arms.

And with a sigh, as the idea was entirely too appealing, Finn nodded at Will's quiet response, "She's in room four."

Trudging up the steps, he ignored the whistles and catcalls of the other men in the bar. As if this woman would want anything to do with him.

Although, he reasoned, she was staying above the bar. If she was one of Miss Emma's girls…Finn gave some thought to how much he'd be willing to pay for a night with this tiny woman with the angel's voice. And he found he was disturbed that the answer was just about anything.

Sighing once more, he kicked open the door to her room and it clattered against the opposing wall. It was a shame she was a whore. He could have envisioned a lifetime of waking up next to someone like her.

A self-deprecating smile eased across his face at the fanciful turn of his own thoughts.

He laid her gently on the bed and swept her dark brown tresses away from her forehead. They felt like silk sliding through his fingers. His gaze lingered on her too-pale cheeks, her soft, full, pink lips that he was giving serious consideration to kissing.

He swept a thumb gently across her mouth and sucked in a gasp as, in sleep, her tongue darted out and touched him gently.

Finn jumped back guiltily as the door burst open.

"What the hell Finn?" he cringed and instantly remembered why he had decided after his last visit that the 'lovely' Miss Santana Lopez was not-so-lovely after all. She swore like a soldier and was louder than gunfire.

"Hello, Santana," Finn wearily removed his hat, running a hand nervously through his hair at the evil glare she was shooting his way.

"What'd you do to the Princess?" she snarled, stalking to Rachel's bedside. Finn found, much to his chagrin, that the sight of an indisputably sexy woman in a state of almost total undress did nothing for him. But a quick glance at the unconscious woman on the bed made his blood boil.

"She's a princess?" the sweet, but dim-witted Brittany ducked in to follow Santana.

"N-not a real P-princess, Britt," Tina, another of Miss Emma's group of girls walked in the door, "W-we all heard the bang when you opened the door, Finn. Is-is everything okay?"

"Yeah, Finny," Santana drawled, sliding her fingers over his chest seductively, "if you wanted it rough, you could have just come to me. You know I go for that. You didn't have to knock out the Princess, here."

Finn caught her hand gently and removed it from his body, "How long has she been working with you ladies?"

Santana chuckled at that, "She doesn't _work_ with us, Finny. She's strictly here to provide musical entertainment. Will hired her. Not that Miss Emma didn't offer to bring her in," Santana walked over to Rachel's side and slowly slid the prone girl's dress up her leg, "she's all soft skin, glistening doe eyes, silky hair, just as pure as the freshly driven snow. Guys really go for that kind of thing, or so I hear."

The skirt was at the top of the young woman's thigh before Santana's words penetrated the thick fog of lust that had swamped him as all that smooth skin was revealed.

"Santana!" he barked, and marched over to pull Rachel's dress back down.

She laughed at him, "Come on Finn," sneered the vixen, "it's not like anyone believes that _you're_ innocent. I've seen that look in your eyes enough times to know exactly what's on your mind."

Meeting her gaze coolly, Finn growled, "You don't have a clue what I'm thinking, Santana. What you and I did…that's business."

"Ah, I see," she nodded sagely. "And you don't feel particularly…business-like about the Princess here?"

Finn rolled his eyes in exasperation, "She was singing, Karofsky tried to get a little affectionate, I beat the tar out of him for his trouble, and while I was helping her over to a seat she swooned. I brought her up here to wait for Doc Figgins."

Suddenly Santana's demeanor changed, venom dripping from her eyes, "You hurt him good, Finn?"

"Yeah," he said simply, shocked and confused at the abrupt change in her attitude.

"Good, then," Santana's smile was predatory and slightly scary, "Now you go on downstairs. I'll send a few of the other girls down to dance for the slavering fools. Tina, Britt and I have the Princess here."

He eyed her state of undress, "And your customer?"

"Tell him to ask Miss Emma for a refund. We got her Finn. She'll be okay."

**Pretend there is a page break here.**

Rachel slowly swam towards awareness through the blackness that had hold of her.

"…see the way he looked at her?" that sounded like Santana.

"…made of chocolate…" now Tina.

She heard three feminine giggles. Brittany would be trailing behind Santana, no doubt.

"What's made of chocolate?" Rachel mumbled, groaning as she sat up.

"Hi there, Princess," Santana grinned, "You gave our boy Finny quite a scare."

"Finny?" it hurt to open her eyes. How did she get into bed anyway?

"Finny. Finn. Hudson," Santana's eyes now revealed a little concern. "You didn't hit your head on the way down, did you?"

"The way down where, Santana?" and with a whoosh, the events of the recent past came back to Rachel. "Oh, my…damn it!"

The other three girls' eyes went wide at her use of foul language.

"Careful, Your Highness," Santana chuckled, "people will think we're rubbing off on you."

"I swooned, didn't I?" Rachel jumped up, clearly aggravated, and began pacing. "I never do that! I'm not some fragile little flower who faints at a little blood."

"I like ragweed," Brittany interjected, "it's a pretty flower. And it smells so sneezy. I'm not sure it is fragile though."

"W-with all due respect, Rachel," Tina ignored Brittany, "isn't that exactly what you did?'

"No!" Rachel exclaimed dejectedly, as she began unbuttoning the top of her dress and peeling the bodice back, "It's this ridiculous corset Will wants me to wear when I perform."

As she ranted, Rachel began loosening the ties on the whalebone corset, "it's horrible. I can't catch my breath with it laced so tight. And I'm a singer! I need to breathe! Will thinks it makes me look more 'adult,' so the men will pay more…"

"Sweetie," Santana smiled indulgently, "it makes you look sexy. Because men? That's what they think of. All the time."

"Surely not all men?" Rachel scoffed, thinking of the gentlemanly Finn Hudson, while she struggled with the stubborn corset. "Finally!" she exclaimed, as she wrestled free of the blasted garment.

Turning towards her wardrobe to pick out a more comfortable chemise, she heard Santana's sultry reply, "All men, Princess. All. The. Time."

Turning her head to glance over her shoulder and refute Santana's claim, Rachel froze in shock as the door flew open.

"…and then she just fell over, Doc," Rachel heard Finn's baritone rumble and stood paralyzed, "I didn't know…" his voice trailed off as he saw her naked back.

"Aw, hell," she heard him breathe, shutting his eyes tightly, "why me?"

**Pretend there is a break here**

Finn frowned, gulping air in through his mouth, trying hard not to inhale the subtle scent of vanilla that pervaded Rachel's room.

_When I open my eyes, she'll have clothes on_, Finn thought to himself. Surely he had only imagined that not only was Ms. Berry awake, and moving around (when he knew she was unconscious), but he must have imagined her naked back.

Her smooth, soft-looking, beautiful, _naked_ back.

He opened one eye.

Still there. Huh.

Except now she wasn't standing like a statue, posed to entice, glancing coquettishly over her shoulder…her _naked_ shoulder. No, now she was scrambling to grab the blanket off her bed.

Rooted to the spot, he heard a decidedly un-manly noise issue from his own mouth as he saw the hint of a rounded curve exposed to his gaze in her hasty rush to cover up. All the blood in his body rushed south so quickly that he actually felt a little lightheaded.

"Finn," Doc Figgins pushed past him, "is everything okay…oh my!" the Doc exclaimed, seeing Ms. Berry's state of undress. "You need to leave now," he shoved ineffectually at Finn, who outweighed him by at least 80 pounds. "Finn!" Figgins nudged him, "Finn!" he yelled louder.

That finally spurred Finn to attention, "I beg your pardon, ma'am," he muttered, feeling his ears flame red in embarrassment.

He turned, walking out the door, down the steps and out of Schue's saloon as fast as he could without actually running.

"That's it," he grumbled under his breath, "I'm not coming back here. Never again. And _nothing_ good comes from New York City. Made me act like a sixteen-year-old boy, wet behind the ears. Not happening again."

Resolutely he untied his horse, determined he would drown his sorrows back home. Away from those fathomless brown eyes, and all that creamy golden skin…

"Not helping," he berated himself as he slid uncomfortably into the saddle. He had a great bottle of whiskey just waiting for him on the ranch.

Adjusting his position, Finn sighed. It would be a _long_ ride home.

**A/N: Thoughts? Comments? I have already planned out their next meeting, but would love to hear your thoughts on what you think will/should happen next. Oh, and my teaser for the next chapter? Hello, Puck. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay, I have to say I was really…disappointed…with last night's episode of Glee. And that's the *first* time I've ever said that. I just felt awful watching it. I've enjoyed some episodes more than others, but honestly, two thumbs down all around last night. I mean, yeah, Finn's dumb but seriously, Grilled Cheesus? And the interaction with Rachel was just horrible. I couldn't even enjoy the sudden and mysterious appearance of the "Finn" necklace (whose origins they should probably mention). And I'm supposed to believe that the girl who gave an impassioned 'we all want it' speech to the celibacy club, and almost gave it up to Jesse St. James after a few weeks of dating doesn't want to have sex until she's 25? And that this same girl has been dating the man of her dreams for months now and hasn't let him round second base? Whatever, Glee. Whatever.**

**Sorry, I digress from my own story.**

**In this chapter, I hope you will find slightly more pleasing Finchel interactions than what we say yesterday. Rated T for some um, interacting. Oh, and hello Puck!**

**As always, please review if you wouldn't mind. Your comments fuel my need to write.**

**And I own nothing. Not my house, not my car, and certainly not Glee (if I owned Glee I would have paid cash for the house and car).**

**Enjoy!**

Rachel had endured the sputtering ministrations of 'Doc' Figgins for as long as she could possibly stand before having Santana toss the odd man out of her room. Her belief in the man's credentials was waning by the moment as he fumbled through a basic examination.

"Alright, Figgs," Santana sneered, "You've been leering at Princess here for long enough. Don't you think it's about time you pronounced her alive and well and were on your way?"

Rachel shot Santana what she hoped was a fervently grateful look as the intimidating beauty herded the doctor into the hallway.

"Miss Berry needs to rest and drink plenty of fluids to keep her strength up," the man peered around Santana's shoulder even as she pushed him out, "if she swoons again…"

"If she swoons again," Santana snarked, "we'll just loosen her corset. Like. We. Did. Tonight."

"Um…you, that is to say that you personally…ah…unlaced her…" Figgins' voice trailed off and his eyes glazed over.

Rachel could barely contain her giggles when Santana went all 'seductress' on the man, "Oh yeah Figgs," she cooed, "we girls undress each other every night. All of us. We had to get Rachel out of her corset really quick tonight though…usually we go sooooo slow. Ooooh, and then?"

Santana smirked as she slammed the door in the man's face and pivoted, rolling her eyes. "Men, they are all the same. Thinking with their pants. Did you see his face? He was two seconds away from asking to join in. What ever happened to professionalism?"

"Not all men think that way, Santana," Rachel said quietly, thinking again of the charming Mr. Hudson.

"Oh, honey," Santana smiled softly and it changed her whole demeanor, "You really are innocent, aren't you?"

"I travelled across this country, by myself. My family…my family was gone. I had no one, and no money. I've had to work every step of the way, and I've fought off more than my fair share of ungentlemanly types. I wouldn't exactly call myself innocent," Rachel finished with a huff.

"B-bu-but have you ever really _been_ with a man?" Tina inquired gently. "Do you really know what they want and how they think?"

"I refuse to believe that every man out there is only interested in," she lowered her voice, "fornication."

"What do men have to do with making the forts stronger?" Brittany asked in confusion.

Santana looked at her for a moment, stunned, "Fornication, Britt, not fortification." She looked at Brittany and rolled her eyes, "Sex, Britt. Sex."

Rachel fought the urge to gasp at the blunt language. She supposed it was silly that she held onto her sensibilities given her living situation. Her best friends were women of the 'oldest profession,' and the closet she came to a mother figure was their madam.

Bringing her mind back to the matter at hand, Rachel frowned, "No, I've never had occasion to inquire of a man what he was thinking. Sadly after my family…well, no man was willing to offer for me. It was part of why I left New York," these women had no need to know of her sad situation at home. Why make them feel sorry for her?

"Let me spell it out for you Princess," Santana was brash but not unkind, "All men, think of sex. Even your gallant Finny-boy has sampled our wares."

Rachel's eyes darted to Santana's and she saw the truth there, "I'm disappointed to hear that."

Santana shrugged, "He's a man. He's not exactly young. I'd think you would be more surprised if he had never been with a woman."

Shaking her head at her own naïveté Rachel sighed, "I just don't understand why men feel the need to…without love, I mean, isn't it…" Rachel trailed off, not knowing precisely what she was asking.

"Meaningless?" Tina interjected.

"Fun," Brittany giggled, "Well, mostly fun."

"Physical," corrected Santana, "It can be fun, but it is entirely about the physical release. Look, Rachel," and Rachel paid rapt attention at the rare use of her given name, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy my work to some extent, but Tina's right. Sex without love, while, satisfying in a purely physical way, isn't fulfilling. Not like it is when the guy is…" her voice trailed off.

"S-special," Tina filled in.

"Exactly," Santana clarified. "If he's not special. I'm not saying I'm all about flowers and diamonds. Well," she paused, "maybe diamonds. But if you've managed to make it this far west with your virtue in-tact, you might as well hold onto it until you find the right guy."

"Until I'm married," Rachel nodded, agreeing.

"I wouldn't go that far, Princess," Santana's smirk was back, and Rachel knew the heavy moment was past.

"Mr. Hudson seemed special," Rachel's voice was almost a whisper.

"I _knew _it!" Santana exclaimed gleefully.

"You knew what, exactly?" Rachel countered.

"I knew the sparks he was throwing off when I walked in here couldn't be just one-sided. Finny's a romantic, but he's not delusional."

"Sparks?" a blush crept up Rachel's face at the thought of Mr. Hudson being in her room.

"He brought you in here when you fainted," Tina explained.

"When I walked in, you were still out of it and Finn, he was staring at you like you were made of gold, or chocolate or something. Like he wanted to devour you," Santana's eyes glowed with devilish merriment, "He wants you Princess. I was teasing him about it and he got all flustered. Kind of like you are now."

"Mr. Hudson," Rachel swallowed against her suddenly dry throat, "wants me?"

"I th-think it's romantic," Tina sighed, leaning against the bedpost, "he rescued you and now you will fall in love."

"He probably thinks me feeble," Rachel moaned, "I practically swooned in his arms."

"He thinks you're desirable," Brittany deadpanned, with her trademark random insightfulness.

Rachel nodded thoughtfully, turning to Santana, "Tell me everything you know about Finn Hudson."

Santana's smirk almost had her reconsidering her request, "How detailed do you want me to be?"

* * *

Santana had been right about one thing, Rachel mused to herself, Finn Hudson truly was an idiot.

She had waited, patiently, for almost three weeks, and Finn had not returned to the saloon. Here she was, pining for him, writing new songs about unrequited desire, and did he have the courtesy to come hear her sing?

No, she huffed. He 'discretely inquired' about her well-being with Doc Figgins. This, according to Emma, who had heard it from Will, whom Doc Figgins had babbled at while dulled by too much drink.

Coward, Rachel snorted, startling her horse. Rachel felt most unladylike, seated as she was on the animal's back, but riding side-saddle for the length of time it required to get to Finn Hudson's ranch would not be a comfortable proposition.

She soothed the skittish mare, and reached behind her to make sure the items she had packed were still there. They were, thank goodness.

Reaching a high iron archway, Rachel looked up at the metal 'H' laying on its side. The Lazy H Ranch, Rachel smiled. She had finished her journey.

Riding up a well-worn dirt path, Rachel looked out across the tended fields on either side. Grazing in those fields were cow after cow, many with tiny calves moving amongst their hooves.

Of all the adjectives Santana had used to describe Finn Hudson (and several of them had her blushing), cowardice had not been amongst them. But Rachel thought Finn might be hiding from her.

Unless, she thought with a sudden flash of panic, Finn really wasn't interested in her. Maybe he was just being polite! Maybe he felt nothing but the kind amount of concern any good man would show for a fellow human being. Maybe Santana had misinterpreted Finn's gaze. After all, the woman's mind was always seemingly focused on…

Oh my.

Rachel's thoughts abandoned her as she approached what she assumed was the main living quarters. Off to one side was a large fenced-in pen.

And, working on the fence were two men.

Two shirtless, tan, muscular men.

Her mouth went dry at the sight. Each wore work trousers, boots, a low, wide-brimmed hat and a bandana around their neck. And _nothing_ else.

They hadn't noticed her yet, these half-naked men. She stared, open-mouthed as their muscles, lightly shining with the evidence of exertion, rippled under their skin. One was very tall, she noticed, while the other was of average height.

She hadn't seen, well, any other men in such a state of undress before, but she had to imagine from the visceral reaction she was having that they were above-average specimens.

The shorter one suddenly looked up at her, and she snapped her mouth shut, trying to subtly turn sideways in the saddle and look like the lady she was supposed to be.

She saw him nudge the taller man and say something to him.

The taller man's head snapped up, and Rachel smothered a gasp as she found herself looking across the distance into the eyes of one Finn Hudson.

Well, she thought, unconsciously licking her lips, this _is_ an interesting development.

* * *

Finn could see the blush staining Rachel's cheeks from 50 feet away.

"Shit," he muttered, realizing his state of undress.

"Puck, we're embarrassing her," Finn said quietly, "put something on man."

Finn's foreman looked at him as though he was crazy, "It is too damn hot to be wearing a shirt, Finn. Plus, she showed up here uninvited. Why the hell should I accommodate her?"

"Because I'm asking you to," Finn growled, "and I'm the boss."

Puck chewed thoughtfully on a piece of straw, "Then I guess the more interesting question would be, why are you asking me too?"

With a sigh, Finn admitted, "You know the girl I told you about? The one at Schue's?"

"The one I've been harassing you about endlessly because you weren't man enough to go back into town and face her? This is that girl?"

"Yeah."

"Aw, hell," Puck muttered and reached for the shirt that was hanging on a nearby post. Finn caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and reached for his own shirt.

Wiping his bandana across his sweaty face, Finn hoped he didn't smell too bad as he walked briskly towards the young woman.

"Ms. Berry?" he called out as he came closer, "Hold on and let me help you down," he frowned as she continued to wiggle around in the saddle. He was surprised her horse hadn't thrown her by now.

"Oh, Mr. Hudson, there's no need to…" her voice trailed off as she realized he had reached her side.

The horse was good-sized, and she sat a full foot taller than him on the animal's back, putting his gaze at a very interesting height. This close up he could smell a touch of vanilla and something that had to be just Rachel. It was making his head swim.

"May I help you down, ma'am?" he heard his own voice and it sounded somehow deeper than usual.

For a moment she just stared at him, seemingly transfixed by something on his cheek.

"Ms. Berry?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Hudson. I'd be delighted to have your help."

Finn nodded and reached up to grasp her around the waist. He marveled at how tiny she seemed. His hands practically spanned the entirety of her small body. The contact was electric, and he felt it all the way to the depths of his soul.

Huh.

So he hadn't imagined it.

Obviously indulging previously unknown masochistic tendencies, Finn lifted the tiny brunette and allowed her body to slide slowly down the length of his own until her feet touched the ground.

He felt her shiver and didn't know whether it was desire or revulsion. Probably the latter, given how his shirt was already soaked with sweat. After he was sure she was steadily on the ground, he stepped back to be sure their bodies no longer touched.

"So," he tilted back the brim of his hat so he could look into her eyes, "What brings you all the way out to the Lazy H, Ms. Berry?"

* * *

Rachel found it difficult to form a coherent thought. She was still stunned by the bold contact he had initiated between their bodies.

She knew that she should have been insulted and indignant that he took such liberties. But he felt so good, and smelled like sunshine and something indefinably delicious. Plus she was still stunned from seeing what he kept hidden beneath his shirt.

"Ms. Berry?" he inquired again.

"Yes, Mr. Hudson," Rachel shook her head to clear the mental fog. "I, um, well, I was never able to give you a proper thank-you," she saw his eyes darken and suppressed another shiver, "for rescuing me at the saloon."

She gave him her best smile, "Since you seemed unwilling to come to me, I came to you."

"You rode all this way to say thank you?" Finn sounded unconvinced.

"Yes," she met his gaze unblinking, "Why else would I come all this way?"

His mouth crooked up on one side into the most adorable smile, "I'm sure I have no idea ma'am."

"Please, call me Rachel," she breathed.

"Are you sure?" Finn's brow furrowed slightly, "It seems a bit…familiar."

"We are friends, aren't we Mr. Hudson? All of my friends call me Rachel."

He smiled again and started to answer but was interrupted by the other man, "You can call me Puck, Ms. Berry."

She looked up into another handsome face. My, if the women back east knew how attractive the men were here in Montana, the cities would empty out.

"Puck?" what an odd name for a gorgeous man.

"Noah Puckerman, ma'am, Finn's foreman. I go by Puck though," he flashed her a beautiful smile and took her hand.

She felt a blush raise to her cheeks as full lips laid a soft kiss on the back of her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Noah," Rachel demurred, flattered by the attention, "Please call me Rachel."

"Puck," she was startled to hear Finn growl, "why don't you take Rachel's horse to the barn for her?"

With a quiet chuckle, Puck released his hold on her hand reluctantly and gave her another charming smile, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Rachel."

"Oh, wait, Noah," Rachel felt Finn stiffen next to her and wondered at the strange undercurrent she suddenly sensed.

"Yes, Rachel?" his hazel eyes were teasing, and she had no idea what was going on between the two men.

"Could you please get me the bundle tied to the back of my saddle before you take the horse?" no sense in heading back to the barn later, she figured.

Pulling the bundle efficiently from the animal's back, he grunted slightly, "What are you carrying here, stones?"

She laughed, and both men stared at her intently causing a blush to rise again, "That's a surprise," she attempted to take the bag from Puck but Finn practically snatched the bundle from her hands.

"Allow me," he mumbled, casting a last baleful glare at Puck as he led her to the house.

* * *

_What the hell, Puckerman? _Finn's thoughts were indignant. Sure, he and Puck typically had a friendly rivalry over women, but Puck should have just _known_ this was different.

When else had Finn ever mentioned a woman beyond the sordid details?

Finn was pulled from his brooding thoughts when he noticed Rachel struggling to keep up with him.

Deliberately slowing his pace, he heard her sigh in relief.

"Ms…Rachel," he corrected himself, "I'm sorry, I'm used to walking the ranch by myself. And I usually have somewhere to be."

"Oh," she exclaimed as they reached the front porch of his home, "Am I keeping you from your work?"

"No! I mean, yes. I mean," Finn inhaled deeply, "there is always something to be done on a working ranch, but I sure don't mind taking time off to spend the evening with a beautiful woman."

He saw the smile cross her face, and she shyly met his gaze. Compliment accepted.

"Good," she breathed the word softly, "I thought that you and Noah…"

He cut her off angrily, "I don't want to talk about Puck."

Rage flooded his veins once more when he thought about how Puck had acted around Rachel. Like he was a slavering mutt, and she was a choice cut of beef. The hair had stood up on the back of Finn's neck as he watched his foreman so easily charm the beautiful young woman.

He dropped the package he was carrying unceremoniously onto the table by the front door.

Were her attentions so easily turned? He felt…jealous. Possessive. Possibly a little insane, which was the only reasonable explanation for what he did next.

He spun abruptly towards Rachel and she backed, startled, against the wall. He sidled closer, bracing an arm on either side of her head so he could lean his weight closer to her lush body. Being this close to her was a dangerous game. He could detect her scent again, and it continued to elude him. Why did she smell so delicious?

He felt her sudden exhale caress his neck, near where his collar opened. The soft puff of air chilled his skin and warmed other parts of him with a vengeance.

"What," she licked her lips, and as he watched the motion intently, he saw her pupils dilate. So she felt it too, this almost irresistible pull between them that was robbing him of sanity. "What did you want to talk about?"

Her eyelashes fluttered as she raised her gaze to his. He saw fear there, yes, but overlaying the fear was passion. Deep, untapped, desire. And it was all for _him_.

This is why he had tried so hard to stay away from her. She made him feel irrational.

"I don't want to talk at all," he murmured, brushing a stray tendril of silky hair behind her ear.

He saw her mouth moving slightly, as though she was trying to formulate a response to what he said, but no sound emerged.

Her eyes drifted closed as he leant closer, closer, until her features blurred and their lips met in the barest touch of a kiss.

Fire.

Kissing her was like being on fire. The sweetest burn he had ever felt, Finn mused, as he gently brushed his lips back and forth across hers. He knew this was wrong; knew he was taking liberties. Knew she should slap him and call him ten kinds of a bastard.

But she didn't.

Oh, no. Instead she clung to him limply while her obviously untried lips desperately stroked his.

A soft moan spilled forth from those lips, and Finn used the movement to his advantage, darting his tongue inside her mouth to taste her essence.

She tasted like strawberries, he mused, as her inexperienced mouth quickly brought his arousal to fever pitch.

He deepened the kiss further, his tongue plunging, his teeth nipping at the fullness of her bottom lip. He happily swallowed every sigh and whimper that escaped her intriguing mouth and went back for more again and again.

Never had something as simple as a kiss brought him to this point of senselessness before.

Unable to fight the impulse, Finn ground his hips against hers, letting her feel how much he desired her. His body was acting of its own volition by this point; his mind was just along for the ride. He gave no thought to her innocence, to the inappropriate timing, or to the thought that he had her backed against a wall in his home.

A deep rumble worked its way up through his chest. Even _he_ had no idea he was capable of making a sound like that.

* * *

Rachel thought she might melt into a puddle.

She was having quite the day, going from a woman who had never really been kissed, to being kissed thoroughly, to being practically ravished against a wall in Finn's home.

He was all around her, his arms, his lips and tongue, she was drowning in the feel and scent of Finn Hudson.

Not a bad way to go.

Feeling his hips push against hers, Rachel suppressed a startled squeak. That was definitely another first. And she supposed Santana had been right in her assessment that Finn wanted her.

Thankful now for suffering through her friends' bawdy descriptions of what to expect, she was at least not startled by his move, although she would be lying to say that they adequately described the sensation.

_Nothing_ could adequately describe the way this felt.

She gave into her urge to feel the muscles he had displayed earlier and curled her fingers in the coarse cotton of his damp workshirt. Skirting her fingers delicately up his back, she felt him shudder beneath her touch.

She slid her hands up into the soft hair at the nape of his neck and knocked the hat from his head. Scratching lightly at his scalp, Rachel felt her body heating as he moaned against her lips and pushed his hips more insistently against hers.

She felt her own body softening, and it was a wicked sensation. Feeling wanton, she swirled her own hips against his, wanting to return some of the pleasure he was giving her.

With a groan that sounded wrenched from the depths of his soul, Finn pulled away.

Both panting, they faced each other in the sunlit entry way.

Rachel blushed as she gulped down huge breaths. Was she good at kissing? She had no idea why he had stopped, or if she had pleased him. Why would he stop when he seemed to be enjoying it?

Staring at her hands, which she was nervously wringing in front of her hips, she quietly asked him, "Why did you stop?"

**A/N: So there you have it. Finchel's first kiss. Thoughts? I'm already working on the next chapter for you. And a warning: this fic may end up being kind of long. I'm really enjoying the dynamic between this version of my favorite duo. Question for you…would you like me to keep it "T" rated? Or would you like an optional "M" chapter thrown in there? **

**Reviews make me write faster. Seriously. :P**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So yeah, I'm a tease, cutting off the chapter that way. Plus, Puck, right? Whatever will I do with Puck, now that he's made an appearance on the scene? Well, if nothing else, Mr. Puckerman is good for adding a little hotness to the story.**

**For those of you who have taken the time to review, or to pick this story as a favorite, or alert for updates, I want to thank you. It is nice to get this stuff out of my head, but it is even nicer to know that others appreciate it. If you like the story, please review. If you have a suggestion, please review. If you want for Finn to dance naked on Schue's bar, please review. Well, I can't promise the last one, but you get the idea. LOL.**

**Oh, and I'm apologizing for making you wait so long for an update – real life got in the way again. Hopefully the next chapter will come sooner.**

**You know the drill – Glee isn't mine. Boo.**

**Rated T, until further notice. **

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Finn watched her nervously wringing her hands in front of her hips, and she blew his world apart when she quietly asked him, "Why did you stop?"

Of all the things she could have said or done in that moment, quite possibly nothing could have surprised him more.

He expected consequences for his ungentlemanly behavior. A slap, perhaps, or maybe a well-deserved insult slung his way. But to see her standing there, looking equal parts innocence and luscious sensuality, asking him _why_ he stopped mauling her…it was just too much for him.

"What the hell do you mean," he growled, "why did I stop?"

"Was it," she paused, and slowly her gaze rose to meet his, "Was I not good? At the kissing, I mean? Or the…um," her blush was sudden and fierce, "the other part, was it not enjoyable?"

He felt his jaw drop; he felt himself standing there looking like a trout out of water and yet was still too shocked to form a coherent response. The blood still pounded through his veins, the urge to throw her over his shoulder and haul her to his bedroom was charging through his mind, and she was asking him whether she was a good kisser.

"You," she began hesitantly, "you seemed to enjoy my attentions," Finn felt like a low-down snake when he noticed tears glittering in her eyes. "I see," she nodded resolutely when he failed to respond, and reached for the package he had abandoned on the entryway table, "it wasn't a good idea for me to come here. I apologize for the…"

Her voice faded out as Finn slowly approached her. If he had seen himself, the rolling, loose-limbed gait he employed as he circled her, he would have recognized himself from years of hunting predators on the plains.

He was stalking her.

"Why _did_ you come here Rachel?" was that his voice? It sounded deeper than usual.

"I told you," she turned in circles to follow him as he paced around her, "I came to say thank you."

"Hmmm," he hummed ambiguously, "did you intend to kiss me?"

A crimson blush stole high across her cheekbones and he almost smiled as fire lit her gaze, "Do I need to remind you, _Mr. Hudson_," he hid another smile at her emphasis on his formal name, "that it was you who kissed me? After you rubbed up against me in a most inappropriate manner outside?"

It was Finn's turn to blush, but he continued with his interrogation, "I didn't hear you protest then," he murmured silkily, "and I didn't hear you protest just now. In fact, since you just asked me why I stopped, am I to assume that you enjoyed _my_ attentions?"

He had stopped behind her, and brushed the silky tendrils of her hair that had escaped the confining updo away from the soft skin of her neck. Her shudder sent an answering thrill down his spine.

"I…" her voice trailed off when he placed a soft kiss at the nape of her neck.

"I stopped," he whispered into the shell of her ear, "because this isn't the way a gentleman treats a lady," he dropped another kiss on the soft skin of her cheek, inhaling her scent subtly, "I stopped because I wanted nothing more than to drag you into my room and help you shed that innocence that you carry around so enticingly. And we haven't spoken of our intentions. We are not a married couple. Would you have given away yourself so easily to a man you barely know, against the door of his home?"

"What makes you think I'm an innocent?" her voice trembled, but she covered it admirably, "What makes you think I don't travel the countryside, seducing innocent ranchers in their homes?"

He smirked, though she couldn't see it, and relished her gasp as he simultaneously nipped her earlobe and bent to grind his hips against hers from behind, "I can tell by the way you respond to me that you're not like Miss Emma's girls," his hips continued a slow assault against her body but he purposely didn't touch her with his hands, "Everything about you is so soft and fresh. I…"

Finn jumped back from Rachel suddenly as the front door swung open. Bright sunlight flooded the entryway, and Finn found himself equal parts furious and thankful for the interruption.

"Finn, Rachel's horse is…" Puck took one look at Rachel's ragged breathing and flushed skin and jumped to, what Finn realized with a grimace, was the correct conclusion.

"You son of a bitch," Puck snarled, not noticing Rachel's flinch at his use of vulgar language.

Finn noticed. He noticed everything about Rachel, it seemed.

"She's a _lady_," Puck's voice was a low snarl, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Noah," Rachel's voice was low and sultry, and she cleared her throat a few times, "Noah, its fine."

Finn found himself having to stem his visceral reaction to the calming hand she laid on Puck's arm. He wanted to rip the lucky appendage off and beat the foreman to death with it.

"Noah," Finn stood motionless, his own breathing harsh as he watched Rachel try to soothe the shorter man, "it is fine. Mr. Hudson and I were coming to an understanding," she said diplomatically.

Puck wasn't buying it, Finn knew. The two men were locked in a contest of wills, staring into each others' eyes; each man daring the other to give up first. Neither looked to be a likely candidate.

"Would you please help me Noah?" the change in her voice was subtle, but Finn noticed it. She had gone from soothing to almost pouting. Pleading.

And in that moment, Finn realized that maybe Rachel Berry wasn't quite as innocent as he thought her to be. She had sure pegged, and manipulated, Puck's knight-in-shining-armor complex from word one.

She was _physically_ innocent, of that much Finn was sure. Her guileless reactions to his unwitting seduction had told him as much. But something in those eyes was wiser than her nineteen years, and Finn found himself wondering what kind of life she had endured that she instinctively knew how to play on the emotions of a womanizing cowhand like Noah Puckerman.

"Ma'am?" Noah tipped his hat in a completely uncharacteristic display of chivalry, "I'd be absolutely delighted to assist you in any way you might need."

Finn barely suppressed a growl at the obvious double entendre Puck had just thrown her way. If that runt thought for one minute he could touch Rachel…

She simply ignored the double meaning of the foreman's words, and Finn watched as she handed her heavy saddlebag to Puck, "I would appreciate it if you could help me locate the kitchen, Noah."

"The kitchen?" Puck's voice reflected the confusion Finn felt. What could she possibly want with the kitchen? Was she going to burn down his house? She didn't _appear_ insane.

Her gaze swung briefly to his and Finn felt it like a punch to the gut. Her once warm brown gaze had gone frigid. "Mr. Hudson, I will call you when I have completed my thank you gift. Then I'll be out of your hair. Permanently."

As she looped her arm through Puck's Finn felt a jolt of jealousy. Watching the arrogant cowboy swagger towards the kitchen with Rachel on his arm, Finn felt a part of his heart breaking. Why was he always such an idiot around women? He knew how to handle a woman physically, but emotionally he was at a loss. How did he always seem to mess up anything good that life threw at him? He had only been trying to protect her, ironically enough, from himself.

Instead he'd driven her into the arms of the most notorious Romeo in the territory.

Snatching his hat off the floor where it had fallen, he forcefully replaced it on his head and slammed out the front door. If she gave in to Puck's advances, she deserved whatever fate brought her way.

_Keep telling yourself that,_ a little voice inside his head mocked. Finn sighed, squinting into the bright sunlight.

There was work to be done, and since he was out the labor of one pissed off foreman, he figured he should get started.

He very resolutely kept his gaze off the kitchen window, and his mind off whatever the two of them might be up to.

****

Rachel allowed Puck to lead her into a large, open kitchen area with a great view of the outdoor pen, where a once-again-shirtless-Finn was furiously pounding a fencepost into the ground.

Gulping against the sudden dryness in her throat, she turned to meet Noah's bemused gaze.

"So," he drawled knowingly, "you _wanted_ him to treat you like one of Miss Emma's girls."

Hearing a scandalized gasp, Rachel turned and met the shocked gaze of an older, plump, white-haired woman.

"Noah!" she groaned, and shoved him hard in the ribs.

"Hello!" she turned her most charming smile on the woman who was still looking quite close to swooning, "I'm Rachel Berry. I'm a…um…friend of Mr. Hudson's."

The woman nodded, shaking Rachel's hand half-heartedly.

"He asked me to give you the rest of the day off," the older woman's eyes perked up at the news, "with pay."

"Pleasure to meet you Miss Berry," the woman said, her demeanor suddenly welcoming, "I'm Miss Smith, the cook and housekeeper. I've done the cleaning for the day, only the cooking left for the night."

Rachel nodded, "enjoy your time off, Miss Smith."

She and Noah watched as the rounded figure practically ran from the house. Rachel watched as Finn gave the woman a confused look and a farewell wave. She ducked out of sight when he turned towards the window.

"Why the hell did you send her away, Rachel?" Noah's voice was almost whiny, "We've got fifteen hungry ranch hands to feed, including the boss and myself."

"I'll take care of it Noah," Rachel patted his arm gently, trying to ignore the steely strength she felt beneath his shirtsleeve. She wondered idly if there was some biological reason for her sudden fascination with the male form.

He nodded tersely and she noticed his pointed glance at where her hand was unknowingly stroking his arm; she jerked her hand back like she was burned.

He laughed, and the sound warmed her. She didn't feel the same fiery burning in her gut she felt around Finn, but Noah was very attractive and seemed to be a nice enough man.

"You don't spend much time around men, do you sugar?" she frowned momentarily at the term of endearment, but dismissed it as something he must do with all women.

Rachel considered his question as she began unloading ingredients from her saddlebag onto the large counters.

"Only every night of the week when I sing for them," she kept her tone as sarcasm-free as possible.

His laugh again filled the room, "I don't mean performing, sugar," he leaned in closer, and she could see the flecks of gold dancing in his hazel eyes, "I mean up close and personal."

Rachel adeptly sidestepped his advance, and began mixing ingredients in a large ceramic bowl. She felt his eyes on her as she quickly created dough and began pounding her fist into the mixture.

Pausing in her task, she met his gaze steadily, "I sell a fantasy, Noah," she said with a sigh and a punch to the bowl, "I get up there every night, and to those men, I'm that woman they can't have. I'm the girl who got away, or the one they always wanted but could never approach. And I'm singing to them. _Just_ to them, of course," she smirked, "like they're the only one in the crowd."

She shrugged.

"I'm not _all_ that different from Santana, or Brittany, or Tina. It's only what I sell that's different. I'm still selling me, you know?" She grumbled then, "I'm not the lady that everyone supposes me to be."

"Bullshit," he spat and she gasped again at his language.

"You see that?" he muttered, "Brittany giggles when I curse. San and Tina don't even notice. You're a lady. You deserve to be treated like one. The last thing I expected to find when I walked through that door was Finn with his hands all over you."

"Maybe I wanted his hands on me," she said quietly, extracting some vegetables and a knife from her bag and handing them to him.

"Maybe," he conceded, chopping at the vegetables expertly, "but he's man enough to know better. And after what went down with the Ice Princess, I'm kind of surprised he had the guts to try it."

"Ice Princess?" she paused in her violent kneading and turned to face him, "tell me about her."

"Ah yes," Puck growled, "The lovely, gold-digging, queen of chastity that was one Miss Quinn Fabray."

And Rachel listened to his husky baritone weave a story of lies and betrayal, as she continued preparing her thank you gift for Mr. Hudson.

****

Finn frowned when he heard the dinner bell ring at 4:00 as usual. He knew Miss Smith had left earlier in the day and he hadn't seen her return.

Not that he was complaining, he thought, wiping the sweat from his brow and slinging his workshirt over his shoulders, not bothering to button the front. He could eat a whole steer by himself at this point.

It was unusually hot for the autumn in Montana territory. Finn wasn't fooled by the Indian summer. He knew the first snow was just around the corner. That's why completing the work around the ranch was so vital – soon enough no one would be able to do much of anything outdoors.

He saw the other hands filing into the bunkhouse to wash up for supper. Finn alone slept in the large ranch home. He had hoped that by this time it would be filled with a wife and children eagerly awaiting his return. But it seemed, like most things he planned, that goal would remain out of reach.

He really had believed he could have fallen in love with Miss Fabray. He hadn't loved her, to be sure, but he liked her. They held common interests, or so he had thought. They made a great match and he had hoped that love would blossom in time, as happened with most marriages.

But then…that _Yankee_ had showed up out of nowhere and stolen Miss Fabray's heart as well as dangled immense sums of money in front of her aptly green eyes.

Finn should have known that a deeper pocket book was all that was really needed to turn her attentions away. And it stung, honestly, quite a bit. It is one thing to know that you're not the man of a woman's dreams, but to have it spelled out for you in such detail was humiliating.

"_Mr. Hudson, you're such a nice man," she had sneered, her emphasis on the word 'nice' leading him to believe she meant 'simple,' "but I need more than what you can give. Your offer of marriage would be more attractive if you were more attractive to me. I honestly can't stand even one more night of your company. You're too…large and ungainly. Your hands are too rough from work. And you are not nearly as wealthy as the man my father has found for me."_

A New Yorker. Finn snorted as he splashed cool water on his face and used a washrag to clean the sweat from his body. He just bet her new fiancé had lily-white skin, hands as soft as a baby's bottom and had never put in an honest day's work in his life.

And now…now he found that the sting of her rejection had lessened somewhat. He had no illusions about the cause of this welcome development. It was Rachel. The beautiful woman who had come to thank him for helping her and received an all-out assault for her trouble.

Shaking his head as he put on clean clothes, Finn sadly admitted to himself that he had likely chased away the one woman who had ever made him feel…anything…beyond lust. Not that there wasn't lust. His body tingled and tightened as he recalled the feel of her body in his arms and her lips against his.

Oh, yeah. There was lust.

But he felt a deep need to honor and protect her as well. And that was new for him. It was probably for the best then that he had messed things up so early on. That way he couldn't be disappointed when she left him for some rich guy later.

Walking down the hall towards the dining room, he heard the raucous clapping and singing of his men. And overlaid on top of the din, he heard that sweet angelic voice he so loved from Schue's…singing the dirtiest song that he could imagine.

Stomping into the room, he felt all the eyes of his men settle upon his face.

They must have read the fury in his eyes because they all stopped whatever they were doing and just stared.

All except for Puck, who was currently two-stepping around his dining room with Rachel, twirling her as they both grinned widely and Rachel sang on about some man's large endowments.

Finn cleared his throat loudly and they whirled to a halt.

"Finn," Puck greeted cheerfully, keeping a noticeably proprietary hand on Rachel's waist.

"Mr. Hudson," Rachel was much more subdued than the foreman, refusing to meet his gaze.

"That was an…interesting song you were singing Rachel," Finn walked over to the pair and with a pointed glare at Puck, took her hand and tucked it into his elbow, leading her to the table.

"Santana taught it to me," she murmured, staring at him.

"No doubt," he heard Puck snicker.

"Will you be joining us for dinner?" Finn ignored Puck and his men for the time being. It wouldn't be a good thing to lose his temper in front of Rachel.

"Sort of," she withdrew her hand and smiled at him, gesturing widely to the dining room, "this is my thank you."

"Staying for dinner is your thank you?" he furrowed his brow, "Then you might not have wanted to chase Miss Smith out of the kitchen…"

Finn trailed off at Puck's snort behind his back.

"She cooked us _all_ dinner, Finn," Puck's voice was exasperated, and Finn made a mental note to kick his ass for it later, "that's the thank you."

"You can cook?" he was pleasantly surprised. Most ladies he knew were used to servants.

"I told you, Mr. Hudson, that you have no idea of the life I've led. I can do many things that I'm sure might surprise you."

Her gaze lifted to his then and he almost gasped at the sensual mischief he saw lurking there.

"I'm beginning to understand your meaning, Rachel," he murmured with a crooked half-grin, "I do appreciate your efforts, although they weren't necessary."

"Shut the hell up, Finn," Puck growled at him, "I've been smelling her cooking all damn day and I'm going to eat it."

"Puckerman," Finn sneered, "you're going to do whatever the hell I tell you to do, and if that means you don't get to eat dinner, then tough sh…garbage for you," Finn halted the curse word at the very last second, sorry that his temper made an appearance.

Puck, of course, had no response. The men were friends, but Finn was also his employer and they had indulged in a few discussions regarding what lines not to cross. It seemed like the other man had just realized he was standing a foot over the line and was back peddling quickly.

"I'll just go get everything for you, Rachel," Puck smiled charmingly at the petite brunette, but Finn noted with amusement that Puck wouldn't meet his gaze, "you already worked so hard putting it all together, you just rest here."

"Thank you, Noah," she murmured, and allowed Finn to lead her to a seat next to his own.

**So, I apologize (yet again) for the long wait on this chapter. I hope it was worth it. I'm still open to suggestions (I love to get them, mull them over, incorporate them where possible). Reviews of any type are very appreciated. Thank you all for reading, and I hope to get the next chapter up much more quickly!**


	5. Chapter 5

**So, a few things real quick. ;)**

**Some of you have expressed concerns about this fic turning into Puckleberry. Let me reassure you that Finchel is endgame in this story 100%. But I'll confess something to you…I am also a closet Puckleberry fan. Not nearly as much as Finchel, but I've always thought those two had potential chemistry physically (if not emotionally). **

**As such, I enjoy writing a bit of Puckleberry flirtation into the story for a couple of reasons (aside from my own amusement). One, it makes Finn ridiculously jealous (jealous = aggressive = hot), and two, I'm a firm believer that without a few conflicts to resolve, a story is more of a 'ship-wank and not really a story. Not that I don't love a good 'ship-wank every now and again.**

**So, fair warning, there is more trouble ahead for Finchel. Maybe from Puck, maybe from outside sources, but yeah, it is going to come. You've just got to have trust and faith that I'm telling you the honest truth – my heart belongs to Finchel and it will all work out.**

**As always, reviews inspire my writing and let the muse feel appreciated (and she is **_**fickle**_** that muse). Feel free to address concerns, and add praise and/or criticism. Suggest stuff you'd like me to work in. **

**Glee's not mine. Coulda shoulda woulda, but I'm not that creative.**

**Still T.**

**And now…our dynamic duo is just sitting down to the dinner Rachel prepared.**

****

Had anyone chanced to walk past the dining room at the Lazy H that night, they might well have sent for the sheriff. Or, if they were of an immoral disposition, at the very least glanced inside the windows.

The noises coming from that room were not for decent ears.

"Oh, yeah," Puck groaned, taking the last biscuit from the rapidly depleted pile in the bread basket, "Come to me you sweet thing."

Rachel giggled, watching his obvious enjoyment of her cooking, and reprimanded him, "It's a biscuit, Noah. It can't hear you."

Puck shook his head in the negative, "This is no biscuit, Rachel. This is a slice of heaven. And it's mine…all mine." He shot a glare at a man who Rachel had been introduced to as Matt. The large, dark-skinned ranch hand had been surreptitiously sneaking closer to Puck's plate, no doubt to snag the biscuit.

"No fair, man," Matt whined, "that's the last one and you've already had like eight."

Rachel laughed out loud. Seriously, you would think these men had never had biscuits before in their lives. "I made four dozen," she began, and they all looked at her as if to say 'that's all?', "but I had a feeling that maybe more would be required."

She felt a smile stretching her face almost uncomfortably, "Noah, there's four dozen more in the kitchen. They should be done now…" Rachel trailed off as Puck less-than-gracefully shoved back from the table and dashed into the kitchen with Matt and another hand, Mike, hot on his heels.

This time Finn laughed along with her as the moans drifted from the other room, "Oh man, they taste even better hot from the oven. How is that even possible?" Mike's voice was full of pleasure.

"Ow, Puckerman!" Matt shouted, "Man you can't have _all_ the biscuits. Rachel said they're for all of us."

"Noah," Rachel was barely able to talk she was laughing so hard, "please bring the biscuits in for _everyone_ to share."

Her eyes met Finn's then, and she felt time freeze as she reveled in this singular moment.

She could see the tiny lines framing his chocolate brown eyes, the result of many years of work outdoors, and no doubt of countless amounts of laughter. Those eyes were filled with mirth, and his smile was wide and contagious. His laugh rumbled up from his chest and the sound made her heart ache.

Rachel pondered that she could probably spend years just listening to him laugh and seeing his face light up with joy the way it was just now.

He noticed her staring, though, and the smile slid from his lips.

Something indefinable entered his gaze, and he reached out a hand to gently stroke her cheek.

Someone cleared their throat, and the moment was lost. Remembering their audience no doubt, Finn snatched his hand away and Rachel turned her head to meet the gaze of the eleven men who were still seated at the table. They were all watching avidly, eyes wide and thoughtful, as they quietly chewed their meals.

Silence reigned in the dining room until Puck, Matt and Mike made their return.

"Finn, you are out of your mind if you don't marry this girl," Puck was looking at the biscuits with a smirk, and didn't notice the mood in the room had changed while he was gone, "because seriously? A woman that can cook like this one is not going to stay on the market long. Hell, Rachel, you wanna make an honest man out of me? Otherwise, I may just marry these biscuits…"

Puck trailed off as he looked around the room, "who died?"

"Uh," Finn cleared his throat and Rachel felt a blush stain her cheeks yet again, "No one died, Puck. We were just all enjoying the delicious food Rachel made for us. Not all of us have to moan like an idiot to express our appreciation."

Puck snorted, "Whatever you say," turning to Rachel, he set the biscuits on the table and dropped to one knee, "Miss Rachel Berry, maker of delicious biscuits, and the best stew I've ever had the pleasure of putting in my mouth…"

"Don't forget the corn, Puck," one man chimed in.

"And the freshly churned butter," another said.

"Oh, and the green beans," a third groaned happily.

"You haven't even had dessert yet," Rachel smirked as a collective moan went up around the room, and she allowed herself to enjoy the attentions of the outrageous man kneeling before her.

"Stop trying to distract me, Rachel," he smirked, "will you and your delicious confections marry…"

"This is ridiculous," Finn growled, and Rachel felt her hand being snatched from Noah's roughly,

"Man, I was just joking," Puck grumbled, standing hastily, "Mostly."

"Mostly?" Rachel shivered at the threat in Finn's voice.

"Yeah, mostly," Puck answered angrily, "I know you're the boss and that you think you have some sort of claim on Rachel. And I'm respecting that."

"You proposed in my dining room!" Finn roared, "I fail to see how that is respectful."

"Come on, man," Puck shook his head, "I threatened to marry the biscuits too. Are you going to take them away from me now? I was _joking_. I had no intention of making a serious proposal to Rachel. Not the time or the place, and again, I'm doing my best to respect your boundaries."

Puck's gaze snuck to Rachel's, "But if she had said yes? Hell yeah, I would have taken that seriously. Rachel's amazing. And you've got a self-destructive streak a mile wide. Why else would you have gone after Quinn Fabray?"

Rachel stood quietly and moved to Finn's side. This was not going at all how she planned.

"Noah," she said quietly.

"No, Rachel," Puck cut her off, "you don't get it. Finn _wants_ you, okay? He wants you and because he's the boss, I'm just supposed to roll over and play dead. Bullshit," he spat, "I did that with Quinn and he drove her away," Rachel felt Finn's body jolt standing next to hers. Apparently Finn had been unaware of Puck's feelings for Quinn.

"I won't let you do it to Rachel. She's a great woman. She's an amazing cook. She's fun to talk to. She's a fantastic singer. What, you think you're special because you heard her sing at Schue's? We've _all_ heard her sing there. You're just like the rest of the stupid men she sings to there, right Rachel? They all think she's singing right to them. But _I_ like her. I'd treat her right. I'd give her a home and a family."

"Like you know how to treat a lady," Finn grumbled, "You've been between the thighs of more women…" Finn trailed off with a snort, remembering Rachel was in the room.

"You're not exactly lily-white with virtue either, Hudson," Puck's voice had dropped to a growl and Rachel was afraid this was going to escalate very quickly.

"The point is," Puck continued, "if you can't be a man about this and make a fucking decision, then there are plenty of us just waiting in the wings for a chance. You think I'm the only one in this room who'd give a limb for a chance with this woman?"

"Is this about Rachel, or about Quinn?" Finn asked in a low voice.

"Neither. Both. Fuck if I know," Puck snarled, "You piss me off, man."

"Noah," Rachel interrupted softly and both men turned to look at her. She took his hand in hers and smiled gently, "As fascinating as I find you, and as attractive as your proposal may be, I'm afraid I have to decline at this time."

She saw something deeply sad in his hazel eyes as he nodded, and she knew this wasn't about her. At least, not entirely.

"I understand." Puck smirked then and she saw that he would be alright, "Do I still get dessert?"

Rachel laughed then, "Apple pie is in the kitchen. You boys enjoy. I find myself needing a bit of fresh air."

****

Finn's gaze quickly met that of his men, daring them all to try and offer their arm to walk with Rachel.

None challenged him. He was the boss, that much was true, but he was also a tough sonofabitch. He towered over the majority of his men and had no doubt of his abilities in a fight.

And with the mood he was in, he was _itching_ to punch someone.

"If I might," Finn said quietly, "I'd very much like to escort you outside, Rachel."

"Thank you Mr. Hudson," Rachel replied, taking his arm.

The feel of her soft hand on his bare forearm had his body tingling and his mind thinking highly inappropriate thoughts instantly. Finn knew he would have to be careful. Between his attraction to Rachel, which was swiftly driving him insane, and how his emotions had just been flayed in his own dining room by his best friend, he was feeling the urge to do something reckless.

So why the hell had he volunteered to test his own resolve even further by walking, in the dark, with the very source of his frustrations?

Puck might be onto something with that whole self-destructive streak theory, he mused. Grabbing one of his lightweight coats from the entryway, he draped it around Rachel's shoulders as the air had gotten chilly.

How had he not noticed Puck's feelings for Quinn?

He had noticed that they behaved strangely around one another. For one thing, Puck didn't flirt with her. Puck flirted with every woman. From the littlest girl to the oldest crone, Noah Puckerman did not discriminate.

But he had always been respectful, almost distant, with Quinn.

It had bothered Finn, but he had also been relieved that he hadn't needed to compete with Puck for the attentions of the woman he had planned to take as a wife.

It just figured that she would be the one woman he _actually_ needed to compete for with Puck. Did Quinn return Puck's feelings?

Which left him to ponder another uncomfortable question – would he have competed with Puck for Quinn's affections? If Puck had told him honestly that he loved Quinn, would Finn have backed down?

Or would it have made Quinn just that much more appealing? Much, he thought, the way his own interest in Rachel seemed to have motivated Puck to behavior that was outrageous, even by Puck's standards.

Payback, Finn realized, was hell.

He must have muttered the word aloud though, because Rachel turned immediately to face him.

"Oh, no, Mr. Hudson," she breathed, "please, enough. I don't want you to fight over me with Noah. I don't want anyone to fight over me. All I wanted to do was to come and say a proper thank you for your chivalrous actions the other day. It seems that all I did was cause you problems."

His heart broke when he saw tears glistening in her eyes.

"Rachel, no," Finn sighed, "I'm not going to fight with Puck. I was just thinking out loud that his behavior might in fact represent some sort of payback for my courtship of Quinn. I wish I could honestly say that him asking me to stand down would have had a different result, but I'm fairly certain I would have still pursued her."

"But why?" Rachel looked so sad, he wanted to lie to her but he couldn't.

"Because I'm kind of an ass," he muttered, "Puck and I both are. You know the one thing that always made a woman more attractive to us?"

She shook her head in the negative.

"When our best friend wanted her," he cringed slightly at her shocked gasp, "It's always been an unspoken rule between us that no woman was off-limits, and each was up for grabs to the man who could win her attention."

"I just don't know when the rules changed," he said softly. Finn was humiliated to tell her this. He came off as the worst kind of slime. "And I'm not sure that, had I not just been goaded into an almost blind rage by a completely fair display of turnabout, I ever would have figured it out."

He looked at Rachel and her eyes had gone cold and flat, "I see," she said evenly. "You're telling me that it is unthinkable that Noah could have feelings for me…other than those relating to your little informal competition," she spat the last word.

"No, Rachel, that's not what I'm saying at all," Finn backpedalled.

"I think it is exactly what you're saying," she hissed, her eyes sparking dangerously, "You pursued Miss Fabray despite Noah's feelings for her. In fact, by your own admission, your very feelings might have been enhanced by the subconscious knowledge that Noah wanted her."

"Wait, that's not…" Finn tried to interject but he was no match for Rachel's fury.

"And as a result, because Noah is deluded into believing that your appreciation of my cooking skills and singing ability translates into some kind of deeper feelings on your part," he opened his mouth to comment but snapped it shut as he saw the anger in her gaze, "he was overwhelmed…not by me or my charms mind you…but by the urge to take away from you that which you took away from him. Payback, I heard you say."

Finn was stunned silent. She had managed to twist every word he said!

"Rachel, I…" he started again.

"I'd like to go home now, Mr. Hudson," she said quietly, and the chill in the air was nothing compared to the chips of ice in her eyes and the frosty tone of her voice. "If you would please have someone saddle my horse, I believe that our business here is concluded."

Resigned to the realization that he had once again messed up his opportunity at happiness, Finn felt his shoulders slump. He quietly replied, "I'll send someone out."

Wanting to apologize but not knowing how to explain, he simply reached for her hand. Looking deeply into her cold gaze, he tried to convey all that he felt with this look. He placed a gentle kiss on her hand and said, "I've very much enjoyed knowing you, Miss Berry."

Finn turned and walked away from her. It was quite possibly the hardest thing he had ever done, and it physically hurt to keep going.

He slammed the door and stalked into the dining room, "Mike, I need you to saddle Miss Berry's horse and see to it that she gets home safely."

The other man nodded and went quickly to follow the order, grabbing a biscuit as he left.

Casting a glance at Puck he angrily growled, "Puckerman, once they're gone you and I need to meet in the barn. I think it's time for a discussion."

"My pleasure, Hudson," and he knew that the anger and satisfaction in Puck's eyes was well-deserved.

Didn't mean it would keep him from kicking Puck's ass, though.

****

Mike had done an admirable and honorable job of returning Rachel safely to Schue's. She had thanked him profusely, as the ride was somewhat long, and he had simply grinned, saying that it was a small price to pay for the pleasure of dinner and her company.

Stomping loudly to her room, Rachel plucked a bottle of whiskey from Emma's private stash for her girls on the way. Tina had often referred to the hideous stuff as 'blackout in a bottle,' while Santana favored the moniker 'liquid courage.' If ever there was a night for courage and forgetting, Rachel knew it would be tonight.

Choking down a sob, she took a deep draught off the bottle as she ascended the stairs. She made a horrible faced and hissed at the awful burn of the amber liquid as it slid down her throat. What a disaster tonight had been! All she wanted to do was properly say thank you to Mr. Hudson.

Okay, she thought, if she were honest with herself, it had been more than a 'thank you.'

She had been testing the waters with Mr. Hudson – trying to gauge his level of interest in her, and trying to impress him with her culinary talents. She snorted. Consider the waters sufficiently tested. But then, he had touched her. Touched her and_ kissed her_ and said the most delicious inflammatory things to her.

Only to take it all back. Not in so many words, of course, but to basically admit though he may desire her, it was primarily because he and Noah were engaged in some stupid battle to prove their virility.

"Stupid men," she grumbled, already feeling the somewhat pleasant numbing effects of the alcohol muddying her mind. "Stupid men!" she growled louder, and giggled when Santana's head popped out of her bedroom.

"Rachel," she hissed, "What the hell are you up to? Some of the girls have customers tonight. You can't be out here calling men stupid when these rooms are full of stupid men!"

"Stupid men!" Rachel sang loudly, making up a tune, "Stupid men and their stupid blasted egos…stupid door that won't…unlock!" she ended by leaning her head against the door to her room and weeping softly.

"Shit, Rach," Santana's voice softened. Ducking back into the room she shared with Brittany, Rachel heard her order the blonde to wake Tina and bring her in Rachel's room.

Rachel felt the keys being gently taken from her hands and allowed herself to be led to her bed where she flopped gracelessly. She drew the line, however, when she felt Santana trying to take the whiskey bottle from her hands.

"No," Rachel snarled, opening her eyes, "S'mine," she slurred.

"Damn, Berry," Santana smiled slightly at her, "You're going to have one hell of a headache in the morning, but if you want to drown your sorrows with a heavy dose of stupid, I'm not going to stop you."

Rachel smiled contentedly at this, taking another large gulp from her bottle, wincing again as it burned, and snuggling the bottle like it was her best friend. "S'there something y'want, San?" Rachel shut one eye to make sure she focused on Santana.

"Sure," Santana smirked at her, "You can share that whiskey with me and the girls. Especially since it's technically ours. You're not actually one of Miss Emma's girls you know?"

"Tech-ni-cal-it-y," Rachel over enunciated each syllable.

"I'm taking it that your thank you dinner didn't go over so well?" The other girls entered the room quietly and took a spot on Rachel's bed, each drinking deeply from the whiskey bottle Santana passed around. They were up for a night of fun since they were without customers, and drinking it themselves seemed like a good way to keep Rachel from imbibing the whole bottle.

"Nope," she replied popping the 'p' in an exaggerated way, "went over fine. Had those boys droooooooling and eating out of my hand," Rachel paused then, snatching the bottle from Brittany to gulp down some more, "well, not literally because that would be gross…unless it were Finn…" she trailed off dreamily.

"But," she suddenly looked at Santana with a shocking amount of lucidity given her current level of drunkenness, "he's an asshole. Yeah, he was all kissing me and…and…rubbing his masculine…parts all over me and then he just stopped and was all 'blah blah I only like you because Noah likes you' and then I wanted to punch him but that's not ladylike so I left."

She trailed off with a sob and a hiccup.

"Wait, what the hell?" Santana's question caused Rachel to giggle uncontrollably, "Rach I think you'd better start at the beginning."

Rachel told her tale, and despite her somewhat non-linear way of thinking at this moment, she figured she had managed to get her point across when the diminutive Tina rose shakily to her feet and shouted, "I'll kill him! Bastard!"

Santana opened her mouth to respond when a loud knock came from the door to Rachel's room.

The four women looked at each other, open-mouthed. "Who could it be at this hour?" Rachel murmured.

"San?" a muffled voice came through the door, "San, baby, I need your help!"

Rachel watched as her friend leapt to her feet, "Puck?" she queried, opening the door cautiously.

A bruised and bloodied Noah Puckerman stood outside the door, leaning heavily on its frame.

"Oh, hey Rachel!" Noah's voice slurred much like her own, Rachel noted with amusement until she saw the state of his battered face, "Britt, Tina," he forced past swollen lips. "San, I was wondering if…" his voice trailed off as his eyes rolled back and Rachel watched in horror as he crumpled to the ground.

"Damn it!" Santana stomped her foot and Rachel giggled again. "Move over Berry," she griped, "I am getting sick and tired of dragging drunken people into your bed."

She placed Puck's prone form on the large bed and snatched the bottle from Rachel, "Let's do this thing, Berry. You wanna get drunk and hang with the bad girls? You got it."

A quiet burp was Rachel's only reply.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Many apologies for the delay in updating. Thank you to those who continued to choose this story as a favorite and to hopefully ask for updates. It's been crazy lately – found out I'm pregnant, my job ended, and I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes (again, I had it with my older son), and gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. So, real life has taken precedence.**

**Plus, honestly with what happened with the majority of the end of Season 2, I was feeling less-than-inspired to write Finchel. Seriously, he can forgive Quinn for getting **_**impregnated**_** by Puck, but not Rachel for **_**kissing**_** him? Is Finn a little slow?**

**But I've been working on this chapter for awhile, and I'm hoping you'll enjoy it. Please review if you are so inclined.**

**And I own nothing. Especially not Glee.**

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Rachel woke up the following morning to the oddest sensation. She was dreadfully warm, and her head ached like someone was mining for gold in her brain.

She giggled quietly at the image and then moaned, as the motion had jarred her stomach. It was protesting the movement vehemently and she was quite sure she was going to vomit.

That's when the bed moved.

Frozen with surprise, Rachel debated her options. Surely, beds did not move. They weren't this warm, either. Not when there was no blanket to be found. Cautiously cracking open one eyelid – which required a Herculean amount of effort – she found herself staring at a stomach.

Startled, she began to sit up and immediately regretted the notion. Groaning, she slowly lowered herself back to the spot where she had been laying and prayed for guidance.

"You awake, Rachel?" Brittany's voice sounded like a gunshot in her head.

"Brit?" Rachel whimpered, "What happened to me?"

Feeling something on her other side move, Tina's voice filled the silence, "Short version? You got pissed about what happened at Finn's, came back here, stole Emma's whiskey and got falling down drunk. Then you passed out and we kept you company. You're hung over, by the way."

Rachel started to nod but thought better of it, "Where's San? Wasn't she here?"

"Yeah," Brittany giggled, "but when Puck got here and they started to get friendly? You told them their disgusting smacking noises were making you sick, and if San wasn't going to share then she could get the hell out of your room."

Rachel gasped, and nausea once again assailed her, "I said no such thing!"

"Y-y-you absolutely did say those things, Rach," Tina giggled, "and then Puck told you to climb aboard, and Santana got all bitchy and dragged him to her room."

"Those two are weird about each other," Brittany noted with an uncharacteristic level of insight.

Rachel just hummed noncommittally, still too humiliated at her actions to contemplate the workings of Santana and Noah's relationship.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Unfortunately, Rachel ran into Puck on her walk back from the washroom. She had, indeed, vomited. And multiple times at that, leaving her contemplating the turn her life had taken as she prayed that if it just _stopped_ she would never drink again.

After the retching subsided, Rachel freshened up and tiptoed down the corridor to her room.

She was startled to see the door of Santana's room swing open, and a bruised and battered Noah Puckerman step into the hallway.

"Thanks again, San," he called out cheerfully.

"Whatever, Puck," Santana called back, "Next time you pay for the goods."

Puck chuckled as he closed the door but froze when he saw Rachel standing there.

"R-rachel," he stammered, "I…uh…that is…"

"Yes, Noah?" Rachel couldn't help but give an evil smile. She felt gross, and bitter to boot, and this man had been _fornicating_ with her best friend just hours after his fake-but-maybe-slightly-true-wedding-proposal to her. It made her just a little angry, and she wanted to make him squirm.

"I…I…I" he continued to babble.

"Did you have fun with San last night?"

"Yeah, I don't remember all of it but, yeah. Rachel, I…"

"You what?" she sneered.

"I'm pretty much an asshole," he sighed, sliding down the wall to rest with his head on his knees.

Rachel knelt down beside him, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "yes, you are Noah. But I kind of knew that already, so…" she trailed off and smiled as he met her gaze.

"You aren't mad?" his hopeful smile was somewhat marred by the swelling around the cut on his lip.

"Well," she sighed, "I shouldn't be surprised. After all, you did propose to me and my biscuits in one evening."

He laughed at that, wincing as it pulled some unseen injury.

"What happened to you, Noah?" Rachel indicated his wounds.

"Hudson and I came to an understanding," he said darkly.

"Did you get in a few good ones?" she asked with a vicious smile.

The startled look on Puck's face was worth the effort, she thought as he laughed and said, "Not as many as he deserved for treating you that way, Rachel. But I held my own."

Nodding, she helped her friend to his feet and watched as he waved goodbye.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It was two days after her disastrous attempt at winning the heart of one Finn Hudson, and Rachel was doing her best to fake normalcy. Her hangover had cleared up, and she had vowed, much to the girls' amusement, to never ever drink again. She kept up her singing at Schue's Saloon, but any customers who heard her sing regularly (and most were repeat customers) could sense a change in her demeanor.

She wasn't happy. Not on stage, and not afterwards. The cheerful ditties and soulful ballads had given way to sultry melodies about love lost and betrayal. Her dancing had changed as well. Instead of floating innocently around the stage, flirting with the customers her movements had become more sensual and provocative.

Not that any of her customers were complaining. But Santana, Brittany and Tina were worried about their friend. It seemed to them that a darker side of their friend was emerging; one that they were not really sure how to deal with.

Rachel crying, no problem. Rachel moping over Finn, nothing new. But Rachel acting the part of the sultry siren was not something they were prepared to face.

Santana had found herself in the awkward position of explaining her behavior on that fateful night. It wasn't something she was at all in the habit of doing. But honestly, Santana didn't have a lot of female friends. And she couldn't tell from the way Rachel told her story whether she had a more than platonic interest in Puck or not.

She had explained that Puck was in…a mood. A particular mood that Santana had only seen once before – when Quinn Fabray had left town for New York. Santana had barely suppressed a shiver as she had lost herself momentarily in memories of the amazing sex from both that night and this most recent one.

It was difficult to explain to Rachel, who Santana believed was fairly innocent in these matters, that Puck was stinging over her rejection of him. It was especially difficult to explain without letting her own jealousy show, because she was more than half in love with Puck. And he didn't care at all that she sold her body to other men, but Rachel rejecting his half-serious proposal had thrown him into such a rage that he had gotten his ass kicked by Finn, and gotten roaring drunk before showing up at her door.

Rachel had been surprisingly calm, only blushing slightly when Santana explained that men like Puck (and Finn by extension) had only certain ways of venting their anger. Sex was one of them. In the end, she wasn't sure whether Rachel was more embarrassed by her mention of sex, or by her insinuation that Puck had true, deep feelings for her.

In the end, Rachel had wrapped Santana up in a warm hug and pulled away smiling, "Thank you for telling me this stuff, San," she had said softly, "But I've got to tell you that I think this whole thing was more about Finn and Noah and what happened with Quinn Fabray than it was about me. Noah…he's an interesting man, but I have no romantic interest in him. And I don't think he _really_ has any romantic interest in me, beyond getting under Finn's skin."

Santana had enjoyed the feeling of relief at her words, not analyzing too deeply how incredibly happy she was that Rachel didn't want Puck, and then had gone on her way.

But again, something had changed in Rachel, and it wasn't a positive thing in her friends' eyes.

Santana peeked out from behind the curtain to see Rachel swivel her hips and level a sexy stare at one of the patrons. It looked like Mike, one of Finn's hands. He was a frequent customer of Tina's.

"Y-y-you think she actually _wants_ to work for Miss Emma?" Tina's quiet stutter pulled Santana from her thoughts.

"Nah," Santana scoffed, "she's as pure as the driven…" she paused, watching Rachel execute another bawdy move, "snow…" she trailed off uncertainly.

"I don't know," Brittany's whisper announced her presence, "She's looking at those guys like she's hungry and they're made of something tasty."

"It's misplaced anger," Santana explained, "she thinks Finn only wanted her because Puck wanted her. And that Puck only wanted her because he thought Finn wanted her. Now she's determined to make sure every other man wants her just because she's a good looking woman. Not because of some stupid competition."

"She-she-she told you that?" Tina sounded surprised.

"No," Santana smiled, "But it's what I'd do."

"Rachel's nothing like us, though San," Brittany sounded confused, which wasn't unusual.

"I think you'd be surprised, Brit," Santana countered, "I think you would definitely be surprised just how much we have in common with Rachel. I get the feeling she's got some skeletons in her closet."

"Ewww! Gross!" Brittany exclaimed.

Santana sighed, "not literal skeletons, Brit. She's got secrets. She's got stuff in her past, I mean." The gleam in Santana's eyes startled the other girls, "I've just got to figure them out and get her over them so she can get together with Finn."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Finn allowed his eyes to adjust slowly to the light at Schue's. He thought this was probably a bad idea, and it was getting worse by the minute.

Rachel had made it clear that she had no further interest in him. He knew that he had treated her terribly. He was usually a very controlled man, and yet within a few days of meeting her he had practically forced himself on her in his own home.

Not that she had objected, he thought, allowing himself a small grin at the memory.

But still, he knew better. He _knew_ how to court a lady, despite the disastrous outcome of his first attempt. And he wanted to court Rachel.

He also knew from the gossip he heard around the ranch, and honestly his men were no better than a bunch of old ladies, that she and Puck had reconciled and that she was performing as usual.

Finn's eyes finally regained focus and he looked to the stage.

Well, he amended mentally, maybe not as usual, per se. Raising an eyebrow, Finn stalked to a table as near the stage as he could manage. The house was packed, and watching Rachel swing her hips to the beat and hearing her croon about 'needing a man,' Finn could see why.

Heat swirled through his veins as he watched. Whether it was anger, jealousy, lust or a healthy combination of the three he couldn't be sure. But he was fairly certain that Rachel's moves could easily set fire to the velvet curtains flanking the stage, given the opportunity.

She made him feel distinctly…uncomfortable.

Unable to sit still any longer, he quietly left his table and made his way backstage. Santana, Brittany and Tina were huddled around the edge of the curtain watching Rachel and talking softly amongst themselves. He caught his name, and Puck's, and flushed a dark red. Was he or Puck somehow responsible for the 'new' Rachel?

"Evening, ladies," he interrupted smoothly.

"F-f-finn," Tina stuttered and he gave her his most non-threatening smile.

"Interesting entertainment out there tonight," he started, hoping to gain some insight without being too obvious.

"You should know," Santana snorted, uttering a few choice curse words in Spanish under her breath.

"Now what does that mean?" he growled indignantly, forgetting his goal in the face of her open hostility.

He was taken aback when the vehement reply came not from the fiery Latina, but from normally docile Brittany, "You _broke_ her," the blonde hissed, pointing at the stage, "She went out to your ranch in a great mood, ready to make you dinner and get you to love her because she's an awesome cook…when you should just love her because she's Rachel and just…awesome anyway…" Brittany trailed off and Finn could see her visibly force herself back to her point, "but no. You. You! You and Puck get into some kind of stupid battle over her biscuits and make her sad so she came home and drank all the good whiskey and then puked everywhere. And now look at her! She's acting all…not-Rachel and it's all your fault!"

She punctuated the end of her tirade with a surprisingly strong punch to his arm.

"I don't think my opinion matters to Rachel nearly as much as you seem to believe," Finn said quietly, "But if I upset her, then I'm sorry. That's part of why I'm here. I wanted to talk to her and apologize for my behavior."

"Stupid," Santana snarled, "Look genius, here's the deal. You upset Rachel because you made her think the only reason you wanted her was because Puck did. You made her feel used, and not in a good, fun, sexy way."

"Now," she continued with a smirk, "somehow Puckerman's already managed to get her to forgive him. He thinks it's because he's sexy and charming and no woman can resist him. But," she looked him squarely in the eye, "and I'll remove your manly bits with a rusty knife if you tell her you heard this from me," he shuddered and nodded his acceptance, "it's really because she's not interested in Puck."

"And she…is interested in me?" Finn felt his heart thunder in his chest at the possibility.

"Was," Santana corrected.

"M-m-might still be," Tina further clarified, "If you can get her to forgive you."

"I," Finn started to respond, when a shrill voice interrupted from the edge of the stage.

"What the hell are you doing here, Mr. Hudson?" he could hear her fury, and he had no idea what to do about it.

"Good evening, Rachel," he muttered dumbly, "you were um…amazing out there."

Rallying his courage, he lifted his gaze to meet the blazing chocolate of her own.

Oh shit, he thought mournfully. This is _not_ going to end well.


End file.
